On the following day Thélénie said to her husband:
“Monsieur, you will be dressed at two o’clock, when we will have the horses put in the calèche and go to pay some visits.”
“Visits! to whom, pray, madame? we don’t know anyone here.”
“That is the very reason why we must make acquaintances. We do not propose to live like bears, I presume?”
“My dear love, I never pretended to pass for a bear; in the first place, I haven’t that animal’s hairy coat.—We will go then; and where shall we go?”
“Don’t worry about that; I have obtained through Mélie a list of the principal people of the village.”
“Does your maid know them?”
“You don’t understand, monsieur, that servants go to the fruit-shops and the butchers, and in ten minutes learn all they want to know.”
“That is true; I am a donkey.—Shall I dress in black?”
“Why not?”
“White cravat?”
“To be sure; don’t you know that it is the dress which commands consideration, before all else?”
“I shall be most imposing, madame.”
“Do your utmost, monsieur.”
At two o’clock, Thélénie was arrayed in a lovely gown, made in the best possible taste; the carriage was ready and waiting in the courtyard. Madame came down and looked about for her husband.
“Where is monsieur, pray?”
“We do not know, madame.”
“What on earth does this mean? I told him to be ready at two o’clock, and it’s after two. Probably he hasn’t finished dressing. Go and tell him to hurry. I am waiting.”
The maid went up to monsieur’s apartment. In a moment she returned and said:
“Monsieur is not in his room, madame, but he must be dressed, for I saw on the chairs the clothes he had on this morning.”
“He is dressed, and yet he is not here! Really Monsieur de Belleville is becoming insufferable; always having to be hunted for! Can it be that he is a prisoneragain in—you know, the place where he was yesterday? Let someone visit all the toilet-rooms in the house; then, if monsieur is there again, we shall find him.”
The servants executed their mistress’s orders; meanwhile Thélénie stepped into the calèche, murmuring impatiently:
“Mon Dieu! what an idiot I have married! but after all, he is just what I needed.”
The servants returned, having visited all the most secret corners of the house and failed to find their master. This time it was certain that he was not in the house. They were about to look for him in the garden, when he suddenly appeared in the distance, drenched to the skin, with his hair glued to his face, and covered with mud from head to foot.
“Oh! monsieur! what a sight you are!” cried Thélénie; “where have you been, then? Don’t come near me; you are disgusting.”
“I am dripping wet, it’s true. I fell into the pond, my dear love. You know, we have a fine pond on our place.”
“Yes, monsieur, I do know it; but I should say that it was visible to the naked eye, and that it can hardly be mistaken for a lawn in broad daylight.”
“And so, madame, I saw perfectly well that it was a pond.—I was dressed before the time, for I did not want to keep you waiting; and, seeing that I had a few minutes to spare, I walked about our magnificent gardens. I spied the pond—I didn’t see it yesterday; I went closeto it and looked in. What did I see? red, cherry-colored, orange fishes! It was a fascinating sight; I was dazzled. I saw one that gleamed so that its scales seemed to be gold! Faith, in my curiosity to see him nearer, I leaned over to catch him; he slipped through my fingers; I leaned over farther, andpouf!I fell in among the fish and came near drowning; there’s a lot of water there!”
“Oh, no! monsieur—only two feet and a half.”
“Three feet, madame; and then, the fish blinded me; I couldn’t find the bank. However, I succeeded in getting out.”
“And in a pretty state! You don’t expect to come with me in that condition, I take it?”
“No, madame; I am going to change.”
“Make haste. What an idea, to try to catch one of those fish! Really, monsieur, you are worse than a child!”
“Ah! I have no luck in this place.”
“Go, quickly, and change your clothes.”
Chamoureau went up to his room. He was obliged to make an entire change. However, as he had but one black coat and his wife had told him to dress in black, he had no choice but to put that one on again; but he wiped it so carefully and rubbed it with so many towels, that it was soon in condition to be worn, and indeed was as glossy and shining as a new one.
Chamoureau entered the calèche, but, although he was well cleansed, madame required him to sit opposite her,not by her side. She found that he retained from his bath an odor of goldfish which made her sick.
They drove first to Madame Droguet’s; she was at the head of the list which Thélénie consulted.
When the calèche stopped at Madame Droguet’s door, it caused a general turmoil in the house. Everybody ran upstairs or downstairs, crying:
“A carriage for us!”
“The new owners of Goldfish Villa!”
“Monsieur and Madame de Belleville coming here!”
“Joséphine, my cap with bunches of jasmine.”
“Yes, madame.”
“Monsieur Droguet, run and put on a black coat.”
“Yes, wife. Must I change my waistcoat too?”
“Yes, if you have time. Mon Dieu! here they are! and I haven’t my jasmine cap! Joséphine, let them wait a moment in the salon. Say that I—that I——”
“I will say that madame is washing her hands.”
“No, indeed! that would be nice! You will say that I am taking a foot bath; that is much morecomme il faut.”
Meanwhile Monsieur and Madame de Belleville had entered the house and given their names to the concierge, who performed the duties of footman as well.
Joséphine came to say that her mistress was taking a foot bath, and requested them to have the kindness to wait a moment in the salon into which she ushered them.
Thélénie proceeded at once to take a survey of the room, while Chamoureau gazed at the two full-lengthportraits, life size, representing the master and the mistress of the house.
“It’s very fine here,” he murmured; “handsome furniture, rich paper, and a superb clock!”
“Hush, monsieur! all this is in execrable taste, and the portraits alone are enough to tell us what sort of people they represent—rich grocers, I fancy. Never mind; let us be very agreeable; we must dazzle all these people, and it ought not to be very difficult.”
Madame Droguet soon arrived, with her cap a little too much over one ear; but that gave the ex-vivandière a martial look which was not unbecoming to her.
Monsieur Droguet came at his wife’s heels, in a very short coat and a too long waistcoat, which lacked several buttons; but he had not had time to notice it.
They bestowed a most affable welcome on their new neighbors; it was easy to see that Thélénie’s genuine refinement produced a deep impression on Madame Droguet, who confounded herself in compliments and courtesies, at the same time saying to her husband in an undertone:
“Button yourself up!”
And he, thinking that his wife referred to his waistcoat, murmured with a contrite expression:
“The buttons are missing.”
Thélénie informed Madame Droguet that she proposed to give dinners, receptions, festivities of all sorts, and that she should hope for her company as well as her husband’s.
The corpulent dame was beside herself with joy, and Monsieur Droguet wrenched off one of the two remaining buttons of his waistcoat.
They then proceeded to discuss the question of the other persons to be invited. Madame Droguet named her own particular friends, and Thélénie asked with an indifferent air:
“Haven’t you a certain Madame Dalmont here—a so-called widow, who has a young woman living with her?”
“Yes, we have,” replied Madame Droguet with a sneering smile. “But, between us, dear Madame de Belleville, I don’t think that they are people worthy to be received at your house. In the first place, they are not polite. When they came here to live they did not call upon us as is customary.”
“That indicates at once a lack ofsavoir-vivre.”
“Does it not, madame? Then they have struck up a friendship with a very low-lived person, a sort of wolf, whom nobody in the neighborhood cared to know, and who seems to be on the best of terms with them already. He walks home with them at night. And then——”
“What! isn’t that all?”
“A young man from Paris, named Edmond Didier, hired a house here in Chelles, soon after those strangers came here. And since he’s been here, he passes almost all his time at their house, until it’s got to be a perfect scandal. I am not evil-minded certainly, but there are things one can’t help seeing.—Let your waistcoat alone, Droguet, and button yourself up!”
“What you tell me on the subject of these women, madame, does not surprise me in the least,” cried Thélénie, delighted by what she had heard. “We have known Monsieur Edmond Didier a long while; my husband was once very intimate with him——”
At this point, Chamoureau, who had not been able as yet to put in a word and had confined himself to watching Monsieur Droguet as he felt for the missing buttons or wrenched off the others,—Chamoureau thought that he saw an opportunity to speak.
“Yes,” he said, “I used to know Monsieur Edmond Didier—that is to say, through Freluchon, who used—at the time when——”
Thélénie made haste to cut him short:
“In fact, madame, we heard in Paris that Monsieur Edmond had formed a liaison unworthy of him, which distressed his family; for what you have told me of this Dalmont woman corresponds perfectly with what people think of her in Paris, where she is looked upon as a scheming adventuress; and doubtless her young friend is little better; birds of a feather flock together.”
Madame de Belleville, who was doing her best to play thegrande dame, forgot that it was not good form to quote proverbs; but it was as right as possible in the eyes of Madame Droguet, who was radiant with delight and exclaimed:
“You hear, Droguet; they’re adventuresses, nobodies! I was sure of it, myself; I am never mistaken in my conjectures; didn’t I say so, only last night, to DoctorAntoine, who undertook to stand up for them!—Just be sick, Droguet, be sick, my dear man; I tell you beforehand that I won’t send for the doctor.”
Monsieur Droguet, who had finally found one button of his waistcoat firmly attached, had just buttoned it with an air of proud satisfaction, and seemed to pay little heed to what his wife said.
At that moment Chamoureau was seized with a paroxysm of sneezing, which ended in a shower and spattered his neighbors; he hurriedly drew his handkerchief, to make his nose presentable; but in his haste to unfold it, he threw into Madame Droguet’s face an object which slid down that lady’s cheek into her bosom, where it disappeared. She uttered a shriek, her husband jumped backward, and Thélénie glared sternly at Chamoureau, as she demanded:
“What was that you threw at madame?”
“I, threw something at madame! why I had nothing to throw.”
Meanwhile Madame Droguet had thrown herself back in her chair, shrieking frantically:
“Oh! take it away! oh! the horrid beast! what kind of a creature is it? It’s still there; it’s slipped down inside my corsets! Take it away! take it away! or I’ll scratch someone!”
Chamoureau stared at her with a terrified expression, but he did not move. Monsieur Droguet let his wife shriek, while he tried obstinately to put another button through its buttonhole.
“Well! does neither of you propose to assist madame?” Thélénie asked them.
“It seems to me,” muttered Chamoureau, “that it isn’t for me to go fumbling in that lady’s corsets; that’s her husband’s business.”
Madame Droguet, seeing that no one came to her assistance, concluded to put her right hand inside her dress. She brought to light a small goldfish which its enforced sojourn in a warm pocket had deprived of a great part of its activity.
“A goldfish!” murmured Madame Droguet in amazement. “What! monsieur,” she added, somewhat reassured when she found that it was not a frog which she had been warming in her bosom, “do you carry goldfish in your handkerchief?”
Chamoureau, as the explanation of the incident began to dawn upon him, turned as red as his fish, and did not know what to say. But Thélénie at once spoke up and told the story of the accident which had happened to her husband, and which explained the presence of an inhabitant of the pond in his coat pocket, unsuspected by him. Thereupon they ended by laughing at the episode, and to obtain full forgiveness for the fish, Thélénie invited the Droguet family to dinner on the Thursday following.
The invitation was accepted with profuse thanks and compliments, and Monsieur and Madame de Belleville took their leave; the Droguets escorted them to their calèche, and they parted well pleased with one another.
“Please examine your pockets, monsieur,” said Thélénie, “and make sure that there are no more goldfish in them, for I have no desire that you should throw any more of them in the faces of the people we are going to call upon.”
“I have no more in my pockets, madame.”
“I am not surprised that you have such a horrible smell of fish about you; why didn’t you change your coat?”
“Because I haven’t any other black one that fits me, madame.”
“Then you must have another one made, monsieur; I believe that you are rich enough to have more than one coat.”
On leaving Madame Droguet’s, Thélénie drove to the Remplumés, then to the Jarnouillards, then to the mayor’s, and to all the leading people of the place, who were extremely flattered by the courtesies and the invitations they received from Monsieur and Madame de Belleville. Thélénie overlooked neither Monsieur Luminot nor the doctor; she left at their houses invitations to dine with her on the Thursday following.
Then they returned to Goldfish Villa, and Chamoureau said to himself:
“I propose to stay quietly in my room, for fear some other unpleasant accident may happen to me.”
Thélénie, for her part, was well content with her day. She had begun a campaign of calumny against the persons whom Edmond visited, and she was persuaded thather spiteful words would soon be repeated and exaggerated, for calumny is the most agreeable pastime of fools. They would be of so little account in the world, if they did not speak ill of their neighbors.
When the lovelorn Edmond returned from Paris, his first thought always was to go to Madame Dalmont’s to pay his respects to the two friends and to indulge himself in the pleasure of reading Agathe’s thoughts in her eyes.
They did not fail to tell him the story of the sale, although Honorine attempted to pass over in silence the circumstances that redounded to her credit; but Agathe told everything.
“Why shouldn’t you tell of your own good deeds?” she said; “as they say so much ill of us in the neighborhood, that will be some little compensation.”
“Say ill of you! who has the presumption to do anything of the sort, when you deserve nothing but praise?” exclaimed Edmond with great heat. “I have known you only a short time, mesdames, but, thank heaven! I soon learned to appreciate you! You are not of those persons whose hearts are a mystery; yours are so kind,so humane!—What Madame Dalmont did for those people doesn’t surprise me in the least; if she were wealthy, I am sure that there would be no unfortunates in her neighborhood! I confess, too, that I feel strongly drawn toward that strange man, the owner of the Tower, concerning whom the people hereabout spread such absurd reports. When calumny is rife concerning a person whom I do not know, it always serves to commend that person to me. What he did for the farmer’s family was grand, noble, touching! it was like a gust of wind which swept away in an instant all the petty slanders that were current concerning him!—But I beg you to answer my question: who has spoken ill of you?”
The two friends were silent for some time; Agathe blushed and looked at the floor. At last Honorine decided to speak.
“Agathe thinks that we ought to tell you everything, bad as well as good; so we will speak frankly, once and for all; I believe, in truth, that that is the best course to follow.
“First of all, Monsieur Edmond, I must begin by reassuring you, by begging you to believe that the remarks which are made about us do not affect us in the least. You have heard of a certain Madame Droguet——”
“That inquisitive woman, who hid a whole day in the bushes, watching for Monsieur Paul to pass,” added Agathe.
“And who received Freluchon so ill because he called at her house to ask for me?”
“That is the woman; the specimens of her social circle who came to see us gave us no desire to know it in its entirety, so we have not called on Madame Droguet, or her friends Mesdames Jarnouillard and Remplumé. That was our first offence, but it was a very grave one! to fail to show to those ladies the consideration that was their due, and thereby to announce that we did not care for their society—that was an insult which they could not forgive. They began thereupon to discover that we were suspicious characters. Then, as you know, chance willed that we should, on two occasions, accept the escort of the proprietor of the Tower; he walked home with us one evening when a cow had frightened me almost to death, and another time when we were surprised by a violent storm in the country. In a small place like this, it rarely happens that one returns home without being seen by someone. We were noticed in the company of that gentleman, who has shown no desire for their company,—indeed, I believe that I was leaning on his arm, which necessarily intensified the wrath of those ladies,—and he who, during the nine years, more or less, that he has lived in this part of the country, has steadfastly refused all relations with the local notabilities, actually offers his arm to us—the newest of newcomers! That incident was the source of a thousand and one absurd remarks. I come now to another fact which has furnished a subject of calumny to all these people: you hired a house at Chelles shortly after we came here to live; you hired a whole house for your single self.”
“What business is that of theirs? I paid six months’ rent in advance.”
“What business is it of theirs? why, monsieur, everything is the business of those who have nothing to do but to try to find out what is going on among their neighbors. Well, you come to see us—often; you call upon no one else in the place; therefore people are bound to think that you—that you take pleasure in our society.”
“Ah! madame, do you tell me this to make me come less often? Would you forbid my coming to see you?”
“I do not say that; but——”
Honorine seemed embarrassed; Agathe was trembling from head to foot; and Edmond hesitated no longer.
“Madame!” he said, “I like to believe that, seeing me come to your house so persistently, you have never supposed that I was led to come by a blameworthy desire, a frivolous sentiment. But I realize, nevertheless, that it is better that I should explain myself, that I should speak to you frankly, that I should follow your example in everything. I must not leave any basis for hateful suspicions. Madame, if I tell you that I love, that I adore Mademoiselle Agathe, I shall tell you nothing that you do not know; for you must have divined that love, which it would have been very difficult for me to conceal! But, when I avow my passion for her, is not that equivalent to saying that my sole desire is to call her my wife, and that that will be my greatest joy? If I have not told you earlier, it was because I wanted to know—I wanted to be sure if Mademoiselle——”
“He wanted to be sure that I loved him, you see, my dear!” cried Agathe, unable longer to restrain her joy. “And now he is very sure of it; that is what he was waiting for before speaking.”
“Why, Agathe! what are you saying?” exclaimed Honorine; while the girl, confused by what had escaped her lips, relapsed into speechless agitation.
But Edmond impetuously threw himself at Honorine’s feet, saying:
“In pity’s name, madame, do not reprove her, and do not force her to unsay those words which have made me so happy!”
Honorine gazed at the lovers for a few moments, then smiled and took a hand of each.
“Be calm, my children!” said she; “I do not look very stern, I imagine. Come, sit here beside me, and let us talk.—You love Agathe—yes, I do not doubt it; I had guessed as much; and it is because I have faith in your honor that I have allowed your visits. She loves you, too; why should I blame her for it, if this exchange of sentiments is to result in your happiness? You wish to be her husband, but first of all it is essential that you should know the whole story of her to whom you wish to give your name.
“Agathe bears only her mother’s name—Montoni. Julia, her unfortunate mother, was loved by a young man of noble birth, Comte Adhémar de Hautmont. He did not abandon the woman who had given herself to him; he loved her dearly and intended to make herhis wife; but, in order to avoid a rupture with his family, he was waiting until circumstances should favor his projected marriage. Alas! the young man suddenly disappeared; Julia never saw him again, never heard from him in any way; and when he left her, it was with a promise to see her soon, and he covered his daughter, then six years old, with kisses.”
“Why, that is most extraordinary! Did he not return to his family?”
“No; Julia caused inquiries to be made; she was unable to learn anything concerning her child’s father, and six years later the poor mother placed her daughter in my care, saying:
“‘I am dying; take care of my Agathe, who has no one but you to love her.’
“That, monsieur, is all that there is to tell concerning her whom you desire to call your wife; and that it was absolutely necessary to tell you.”
“Oh! madame, you do not think, I trust, that that can in any degree lessen my love for her or my desire to make her the companion of my life.”
“You see, my dear, it doesn’t change his sentiments at all; I was sure that it would not!”
“Dear Agathe, your mother’s misfortunes can but make you the more interesting in my eyes. But your father’s sudden disappearance seems to me most extraordinary; it must be connected with some mysterious occurrence—with some crime, perhaps; who knows?”
“Ah! we have very often thought that.”
“And there has never been any clue, any circumstance to put you on the track of what happened to him?”
“Nothing; so long as my poor mother lived, she never ceased to seek information and make inquiries; but she could never discover a trace of the man who had sworn to love her forever! When she died, I was twelve years old; I could do nothing but weep for my dear mother, and love her who consented to take charge of the unfortunate orphan.”
Agathe threw herself into Honorine’s arms; the latter hastily wiped away the tears that were gathering in her eyes and said:
“Now, my young fiancés, for from this day I regard you as such, let us talk of serious matters. Let us for a moment forget love, which is a very pleasant thing, but insufficient to keep house upon. I am talking now like an aged guardian, am I not? But the old people are almost always right, for they have experience on their side—experience, that unexcelled source of knowledge for which one pays so dear that it ought to be of some use. My young friend Agathe has nothing—no dowry! Alas! I can give her none! And you, Monsieur Edmond—what is your position?—Remember that we have been entirely frank with you.”
“Oh! I do not propose to lie to you, madame, or to make myself out any better than I am. I received sixty thousand francs from an uncle; I invested the money and for some time I was content to live on the income. But soon, acquaintances—circumstances—follies——”
“Enough! we can guess the rest. You have spent the whole?”
“No, madame; I still have about twenty thousand francs. But I have hopes, I will obtain employment, a lucrative place—it has been promised me.”
“Well, Monsieur Edmond, don’t you think that it would be more sensible to wait until you have this place, before marrying? In the first place, you are very young, and Agathe will not be seventeen for two months! It seems to me that you can afford to wait a little while.”
“You are always right, madame. When I take mademoiselle for my wife, I wish to assure her a comfortable position in life, at least; I do not wish to have to tremble for the future. Now that I know that you consent to our union, now that we are engaged, I shall have the courage to wait; but I shall so arrange matters that the time will soon come when I shall be able to offer her a husband worthy of her.”
“Oh! I am not ambitious!” cried Agathe; “I don’t care about wealth!”
“Hush, mademoiselle!” said Honorine; “I really believe that you have less sense than Monsieur Edmond. Luckily, I have enough for you. Here you are engaged! you are to be pitied, are you not? And now the slanderous tongues of the neighborhood can wag all they choose! Poucette will be justified in saying to them:
“‘If Monsieur Edmond Didier does come to my mistress’s house often, it’s because he’s engaged to Mademoiselle Agathe.’”
The young lovers were beside themselves with joy, and Edmond left the house with the assurance that he was beloved, and that his dearest wish would be fulfilled some day.
Honorine left Agathe to enjoy that delicious reverie which always follows the certainty of being united to the object of one’s choice, and went down alone to the garden.
It was a superb day, and it was a joy to breathe the pure air of the country.
Honorine was pensive too, and sighed without asking herself why.
When she reached the end of the garden, she opened the little gate which gave access to an unfrequented road from which one had an extensive view of the surrounding country.
Honorine glanced instinctively in the direction of the Tower. She walked, unconsciously, a few steps along the road and seated herself at the foot of a huge walnut tree, on another uprooted tree which formed a natural bench.
She had been sitting there for some time, happy in Agathe’s happiness, and thinking that it must be very sweet to inspire love in a person to whom one is attracted, when she felt, all of a sudden, something rub against her hand; her first feeling was one of alarm, but it speedily vanished when she saw beside her Ami, the beautiful dog belonging to the owner of the Tower.
Ami was not backward in manifesting his pleasure at the meeting; he licked her hands and played about her;he even carried his familiarity so far as to put his paws on the young woman’s lap now and then. But she received these tokens of affection with pleasure, and while she patted Ami’s head and neck, she glanced about her, for the dog’s presence always announced his master’s. But she looked in vain—she could see no one.
Ami left her for a moment; he too seemed to be looking in all directions; then he returned to Honorine, and barked as if he wished to ask a question.
“I see plainly what you are looking for, good dog; you are asking me where Agathe is—Agathe, whom you are used to seeing with me always. I am alone to-day; you must be content with my company. But you too are alone, Ami; how is it that you come here without your master? You are far from home. Did you leave the Tower to come to see us? Did your master send you here? Have you some message? Are you going back soon?”
The dog, after listening a moment, lay down at Honorine’s feet and stretched himself out there with that unrestraint, that unfeigned laziness which dogs exhibit when they have found a spot which they like.
“He doesn’t act as if he intended to go away,” thought Honorine; “it’s singular; I wonder if his master is anywhere about?”
At that moment Ami turned his head quickly, but did not leave his place. The young woman looked in the direction to which the dog seemed to call her attention, and she saw the owner of the Tower climbing a littlepath which led from the village to the road by which she was then sitting.
Paul had not seen her, but he could not fail to pass her in a moment. Honorine lowered her eyes, but she let her arm rest on the dog, as if to ask him not to leave her. A few seconds later Paul had halted in front of the young woman; and his dog gazed at him earnestly, without moving from his place, as if to say: “I am very comfortable here!”
“Really, madame, I am afraid that Ami presumes too far upon your kindness to him,” said Paul, as he bowed to Honorine; “he is altogether too unceremonious; you should send him away.”
“Oh! monsieur, why should I send the good dog away, when he shows such a friendly feeling for me? it is not such a common thing; and one can depend upon it in his case, I fancy?”
“Oh! yes, yes! and in no other!”
“Do you really mean that you make no other exception, monsieur? It must be very melancholy to think that no one can ever have a friendly feeling for one!”
Paul made no reply; he remained standing in front of the young woman; but he gazed fixedly at his dog and seemed to be studying the contented expression that he read in his eyes.
“Monsieur,” said Honorine after a moment, “if you care to rest a while, this tree trunk on which I am sitting is quite large enough for two. I do not ask you to come into the house, although it is within a few steps;for, as you have never deigned to accept our invitations, I am bound to presume that they do not please you.”
Ami’s master made no reply, but he seated himself on the tree trunk, beside the young woman; and his dog, who had followed him with his eyes, stretched out one of his paws and rested it on his master, looking at him with an expression of the greatest satisfaction.
Honorine waited expecting that her neighbor would speak to her, but he maintained silence and seemed absorbed in his reflections.
The young woman, who was very desirous to talk, decided to begin.
“Have you lived in this part of the country long, monsieur?”
“A little more than nine years, madame.”
“And you live alone on your estate?”
“Practically alone.”
“You abandoned the world very young.”
“One finds it easy to leave what one despises!”
“Oh! pray let me believe, monsieur, that that contempt does not include the whole world.”
“Doubtless there are exceptions, madame; but I have been so cruelly tried, that I am quite justified in entertaining a bad opinion of men.”
“And of women too, perhaps?”
“Of women even more!”
“Really? And because one woman deceived you, you despise them all! Allow me to tell you, monsieur, that all women are not alike!”
“They have all been alike to me, however!”
“Ah! you have been deceived by several?”
“So long as it is only a matter of pleasure—of follies, if you will—one can always make excuses, forgive; but there is a kind of treachery that reaches the heart, that has deplorable, heartrending consequences, and that leads to irreparable disasters! Ah! that sort of treachery one never forgives!”
“No; but one pours out his grief upon the bosom of a friend, who comforts one, who strives to make one forget one’s suffering, or at least to alleviate it.”
“I have never met one of those friends!”
“How could you have met them, since you shun all society, all companionship?”
“I have the companionship of my dog. He loves me; he won’t betray me, will you, Ami?”
In reply to this question, Ami, whose left paw was still resting on his master, pricked up his ears, lifted his right paw and laid it on Honorine’s lap.
“On my word, Ami, you are getting to be too familiar,” said Paul, putting out his hand to remove the paw; but Honorine stopped him.
“Do let the dog alone. He loves me too, you see. Does that displease you?”
“No—no—madame; but——”
“Does it surprise you?”
“I confess that—knowing you such a short time——”
“You do not understand the friendship that your dog displays for me. But the very first time that he sawAgathe, he fawned upon her and caressed her; that was much more singular!”
“It was indeed; and I have often wondered, but in vain, what could be the source of Ami’s affection for a person he had never seen.”
“I should suppose, monsieur, that you would divine more readily this honest and faithful servant’s instincts; at least, after what I have heard.”
“What have you heard, madame?”
“That your dog had the gift of divining at once the sentiments with which a person regarded his master; and that, as a result of that instinct, he greeted your enemies far from cordially, that he growled and barked at people whom you had reason to distrust; while, on the contrary, he showed much affection for those who were disposed to feel a—a sincere affection for you.”
Honorine almost stammered in her utterance of these last words.
Paul fixed his eyes on the young woman’s sweet and sympathetic features, and his brow, ordinarily clouded, seemed to clear; one would have said that for the first time during a long period his heart beat fast under the impulse of a pleasurable sensation.
“It is true, madame,” he said after a moment’s silence, “that my dog has often afforded proofs of that peculiar instinct; but had I not the right to doubt the accuracy of his second sight in this instance? How could I suppose that you could entertain the slightest affection for me? I have done nothing to deserve it.”
“You forget, monsieur, that you have twice established a claim to our gratitude—on the two evenings of the cow and the storm. What would have become of us but for you?”
“Anyone would have done as much as I did.”
“I see, monsieur, that you have made up your mind that you will see only evil-minded, false, treacherous people in all who surround you.”
“Oh! madame!”
“But your efforts are vain; your dog, who knows what to believe, will always look upon us as his friends. Look; see how he gazes at me; he seems to express approval of my words; if he continues to show such friendliness to me, you will distrust him too, will you not, monsieur?”
“Ah! madame, far from it; on the contrary, I shall think that I have at last found what I believed it to be impossible to find—a true friend!”
At that moment Agathe appeared at the little gate.
“Honorine!” she called; “Honorine! are you there?”
“Here I am,” said the young woman, rising; “I was not far away.”
“I have been looking for you everywhere; I was worried about you. Ah! here’s Ami; good-day, brave dog!”
Ami had left his place to run to meet Agathe, who then spied the owner of the Tower.
She bowed affably to him, saying:
“Had I known that monsieur was with you, I shouldn’t have been alarmed, as he is always our protector.”
“I have done nothing yet to earn that title,” said Paul, returning Agathe’s bow. “But I should esteem myself very fortunate, mademoiselle, if I could ever be of any real service to you.”
As he finished speaking, he bowed to the two friends and left them, motioning to his dog to follow him, which he did not make up his mind to do until he had trotted back several times to the young women, to fawn upon them and wag his tail.
Two days later, Père Ledrux was working in Madame Dalmont’s little garden. Humming as usual, he approached the two friends, who were sitting amid a clump of trees.
“Well!” he said, “here’s more fine folks in the place; ah! but these are regular bigwigs, so it seems; even bigger than Madame Droguet!”
“Whom are you talking about, Père Ledrux?” asked Honorine.
“The folks who’ve bought the house with the goldfish.”
“What!” cried Agathe, “is there a house with goldfish in this village—and we didn’t know it?”
“Bless me! mamzelle, when it was for sale, nobody thought much about it; it was too dear for the natives here. It’s a splendid place, with a park and an English garden and a kitchen garden.”
“And goldfish apparently?”
“Yes, mamzelle; a big pond full of ‘em.”
“And you know who has bought the place?”
“Pardi! everybody in Chelles knows.”
“You see that that isn’t so, Père Ledrux, for we don’t know a word about it.”
“The buyers are Monsieur and Madame de Belleville—man and wife; both young. The lady’s a fine woman, and she’s always dressed up—my word!—as if she was going to a wedding.”
“Really? then they are living here?”
“Oh, yes! they’ve been here for the last ten or twelve days——”
“Oh! I’ve seen the lady, I have,” said Poucette, coming forward; “I’ve seen her several times—for the last three days you don’t see anything but her riding by here on horseback. Anyone would think it was our house she wanted to see; she rides in front of it and behind it, and she looks over the garden wall; that’s easy, on horseback!—She’s got a fine blue cloth habit, with a long skirt that hides her horse’s tail, and a man’s round hat. You ought to see how well she sits on her horse! Oh! she ain’t afraid, that lady ain’t! you can see that right off.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Faith, mamzelle, you can’t say that she ain’t good-looking; but with her great black eyes, when she looks at you, you’d think she wanted to frighten everybody. She’s got a bold, haughty way! for my part, I don’t like such ways.”
“When you see this beautiful amazon again, Poucette, call me; I am curious to see her.”
“All right, mamzelle; I’ll bet she’ll ride by again to-day; for I tell you she always rides round the house and then comes back this way.”
“That’s rather strange, don’t you think so, Honorine?”
“For my part, I see nothing extraordinary about it, my dear girl; this lady comes to live in a part of the country that she isn’t familiar with, and she goes out in the saddle; that’s the best way of becoming acquainted with the neighborhood. If she looks at the houses, it’s because she wants to know the people who live in them.”
“But why does she pass our house so often? why does she ride round it?”
“She passes it, no doubt, because it’s on her road when she goes out to ride. Poucette thinks that she rides round it; probably that is because it’s her shortest way home.”
“You always think that everything’s all right. Still, I am very curious to see this beautiful equestrian.”
“And I am not in the least, I assure you.—By the way, you don’t mention the husband; doesn’t he ride too?”
“Oh, no!” said the gardener; “the husband don’t know how to sit a horse very well, it seems; the firstday Madame de Belleville went out to ride, her husband thought he’d go with her. So he took a horse, but he didn’t look as if he was very comfortable on him. ‘My dear love,’ he sings out to his wife, ‘please don’t go so fast! I’ve got out of the habit of galloping.’—But whether his wife didn’t hear him, or whether her horse wouldn’t stop, she was off like a flash in an instant. Monsieur de Belleville tried to overtake her, butpatatras!—off he went, head over heels. He got up and went home, limping a little and swearing he’d never get on a horse again; but that don’t prevent madame’s going every day.”
“She has a servant follow her, of course?”
“No, she always goes alone. As Poucette says, she ain’t afraid. It seems there’s to be a dinner-party to-morrow, given by the owner of Goldfish Villa; all the bigwigs of the place are invited—the Droguets and Remplumés and Jarnouillards; you don’t hear anybody talking about anything else. Perhaps it’s to invite you that Madame de Belleville rides round your house the way she does.”
“Oh! no, Père Ledrux; it can’t be for that. In the first place, one doesn’t go on horseback to pay a ceremonious visit; and in the second place, we are not bigwigs, and as this lady chooses to make friends of all the people who talk ill of us, it is probable that we shall never make friends with her. But if you hear any more gossip, Père Ledrux, about Monsieur Edmond Didier’s frequent visits to us, I authorize you to say that there is nothingsurprising in the fact of a young man’s paying court to the person he is to marry; for Monsieur Edmond and Agathe are engaged.”
“Well, well! I had a suspicion of that!” cried the gardener; “I says to myself: ‘That young man and that girl—hum! it might well be—they’re both very good-looking!’—But, you understand, I just said that to myself, by way of reflection; for it don’t concern me, it’s none of my business.—I’ll just go and take a look at your hens; it’s as sure as can be that the black one fights with the others; if you don’t eat her, I’ll have to take her away; she makes the others too miserable.”
“We don’t eat the hens whose eggs we have eaten; take her away, Père Ledrux.”
“Well! you understand, it’s in your interest; she’d spoil all the others.”
Père Ledrux went off to the hencoop, and Honorine had returned to the house, when Poucette came running to Agathe, crying out:
“Mamzelle, here she is, she’s coming this way.”
“Who? the amazon?”
“Yes, she’s on the narrow road, at the end of the garden; you can see her nicely from the summer-house.”
“Let us go there then!”
Agathe was soon at the window of the summer-house, and Poucette, who had followed her, pointed to a lady on horseback, coming from Gournay, and riding her horse at a gallop, with a poise and boldness worthy of a circus rider.
Thélénie was dressed in a beautiful habit of light blue broadcloth; on her head was a man’s hat, with a very broad brim, set a little on one side, and adorned with a waving mass of black ribbons. Her lovely black hair fell in corkscrew curls on each side of her face, and her great gleaming eyes shone with wonderful brilliancy beneath her hat-brim. She held in her right hand a dainty riding-crop, with which she lashed her horse vigorously when he showed signs of relaxing his pace.
Agathe gazed with unwearying admiration at the beautiful equestrian; she leaned from the window in order to see her better, saying to Poucette:
“Oh! how splendidly she rides! what grace! what fearlessness! She is a very pretty woman too!”
“Yes, at a distance! but wait till you see her near to.”
As Thélénie drew near Honorine’s house, she saw that there was someone at the window of the summer-house; instantly she changed her horse’s gait and brought him down to a walk.
“I can see her much better now,” said Agathe; “she has stopped galloping and is coming very slowly.”
“I guess she’s walking her horse so that she can see you better. Just see how she stares at you, mamzelle! wouldn’t you think she wanted to bury her eyes in your face?”
“That is true; she is looking at me so attentively!—I don’t think her so pretty now.”
“There! I knew it! She has a very wicked look, that fine lady has!”
“See; she is turning round to look at me.”
“If I was you, mamzelle, I’d stick out my tongue at her.”
“She is going on at last; I’m glad of that!”
“Never mind; she’ll know you another time!”
“Really, I can’t understand how a person can stare at one in that way!”
“And with such a look! anyone would think she’d have liked to beat you! I say, mamzelle, I’m sure that if Monsieur Edmond had seen that woman stare at you like that, he’d have gone out and said to her: ‘What business have you to look at my intended like that? Do you know her? Do you want anything of her?’”
“That is very likely; but I shan’t mention that woman to Edmond! After all, if she doesn’t find me to her taste, so much the worse for her! it’s all the same to me.”
“She must be pretty hard to suit! For my part, I think she finds you too good-looking, and that’s what vexed her.”
“How foolish you are, Poucette! what difference can it make to her whether I am good-looking or not?”
“Look you, mamzelle! that handsome amazon probably says to herself when she comes here to live: ‘I shall be the prettiest woman in the place; everybody will admire me!’ Especially as she’s mighty particular about her dress.—Well, you understand, so long as she don’t see anybody but the Droguets and Remplumés and Jarnouillards, she might well think herself the handsomestwoman in the place; but now that she’s seen you, it’s another story.”
Agathe went to Honorine and told her what had happened, and described the impertinent way in which the new owner of Goldfish Villa had stared at her. Whereat Madame Dalmont began to laugh, saying:
“That serves you right! You were so curious to see this woman and now you are well paid for your curiosity.”
“Never mind, my dear; if I meet this Madame de Belleville again, and she stares at me as she did just now, I shall ask her what she wants of me.”
“You will be very foolish, Agathe; when people behave impertinently, the best way to mortify them is to pay no attention.”
Since her conversation with the owner of the Tower, Honorine had gone out quite frequently to sit on the tree trunk under the walnut. She declared that from there the view was very extensive, while Agathe maintained that it was quite as fine from the window of the summer-house. So that Madame Dalmont almost always selected the hours when her young friend was practising on the piano, to open the little gate and go out into the road. Did she hope to meet there again the excellent dog, who had shown her so much affection? or was it his master whom she hoped to see? But there was no sign of Paul or of his dog.
By way of compensation, the one engrossing subject of conversation in the neighborhood was the dinner givenat Goldfish Villa. Père Ledrux and Poucette repeated to the two friends what was said in Chelles on that subject.
“It was a magnificent affair.”
“Besides the notable people from this region, there were lots of people from Paris, men especially, all of the best tone and of the most perfect refinement! Some smoked at dessert, but it was only to change the air.”
“They had things to eat that no one knew the names of, and wines to drink that looked like liqueurs.”
“There was a most beautiful porcelain service. A servant broke a plate on Monsieur Jarnouillard’s head; but it did nothing but spoil his coat, which was spoiled already.”
“The master of the house nearly strangled eating fish.”
“Monsieur Luminot got a little tipsy.”
“Madame de Belleville changed her dress after the second course.”
“Madame Remplumé was sick.”
“Monsieur Jarnouillard counted the different dishes of dessert—there were thirty-three.”
“They played cards and danced in the evening.”
“Monsieur Droguet fell while waltzing.”
“They played for infernally high stakes. Madame Droguet lost four francs at lansquenet. But Monsieur Antoine Beaubichon won three at écarté.”
“Everybody went away overflowing with admiration for Monsieur and Madame de Belleville.”
Such were the remarks which circulated through the village after the grand banquet. The names of the newowners of the villa were mentioned in Chelles only with the most profound respect. Monsieur Remplumé even went so far as to remove his hat when he passed their house. And when Thélénie pranced through the village on horseback, people ran to their doors and windows to see her pass, crying:
“There she goes! there she goes! she rides like a dragoon!”
To be sure, there were some urchins who yelled: “A la chienlit!” But those unseemly words were drowned by the applause and cheers.
Thélénie continued to gallop by Madame Dalmont’s house; but Agathe, instead of watching her, left the window if she were sitting at it, determined that that lady should not have the satisfaction of scrutinizing her as she did before.
One afternoon, when Honorine was sitting alone under the great walnut tree by the roadside, she suddenly heard piercing shrieks not far away. They evidently proceeded from a child’s lips, and the young woman, thinking that someone might be in need of assistance, hastened down the hill, and saw, some two hundred yards away, a woman on horseback striking with her crop a small boy in whom Honorine instantly recognized the one who had stolen her cherries.
The appearance of a lady on the scene did not calm Thélénie’s wrath; she continued to belabor the lost child, exclaiming: “Ah! you won’t stand aside when I tell you to look out, won’t you? You make signs to showthat you aren’t afraid of me, and you make faces at me! You little blackguard, I’ll teach you to know me and respect me!”
When he caught sight of Madame Dalmont, little Emile ran to her for protection, still making a great outcry, in which there was at least as much anger as pain.
The amazon would have ridden after him, but Honorine barred her way.
“Mon Dieu!” she said, “what has this child done to you, madame, that you should punish him so severely?”
Thélénie eyed Honorine insolently as she retorted:
“What has he done to me? what business is it of yours? If I horsewhip him, it’s because I choose to do it, and because he deserves it. What are you meddling for?”
“Meddling—when I defend a child who is being beaten! Evidently, madame, you would see a child overwhelmed with blows without thinking of defending him!”
“What does this mean? that madame is pleased to give me a lesson, perhaps?”
“I might well give you a lesson in politeness, I fancy; for you adopt a tone which is very little in harmony with your costume.”
Thélénie bit her lips angrily; then she cried abruptly:
“Ah! you are Madame Dalmont, no doubt?”
“I am Madame Dalmont.”
“I might have guessed as much. Ha! ha! ha! I have frequently heard of madame and her little friend,Mademoiselle Agathe! Ha! ha! You ladies are very well known in Chelles.”
“I think not, madame, as we see very few people.”
“But you are much talked about all the same!”
“It is quite possible, madame; there are people whose sole occupation is gossip, slander, calumny. But what comes from the mouths of those people is not worth thinking about, really!”
“Do you mean that for me, madame?”
“How could I mean it for you? I do not know you!”
“I am Madame de Belleville, and I am not in the habit of putting up with an insult from anybody, no matter who it may be.”
“And I am Madame Dalmont, and I am not in the habit of fighting because I am not a man.”
Thélénie was irritated beyond measure by the young widow’s imperturbable calmness.
But while this dialogue was taking place between the two ladies, little Emile, thirsting for revenge for the blows he had received, picked up a large lump of earth and threw it with all his strength at the person who had beaten him. The clod did not reach her, but it struck one of the ears of her horse, and as it broke, spattered and soiled the beautiful blue skirt.
The horse, not expecting the assault, made a leap side-wise which might well have unseated his rider; but Thélénie, unshaken in her saddle, simply cried out in rage:
“Ah! you little villain!” she shrieked; “this time you shall feel my crop, and you’ll keep the marks of it!”
The lost child hid behind Honorine; but that obstacle did not seem to deter Thélénie.
“Stand aside, madame,” she cried; “move from in front of that rascal, or I won’t be answerable for my horse.”
“For heaven’s sake, madame, forgive the child!”
“No! no! and if you don’t move—So much the worse for you, if you get a taste of the crop too!”
With that the amazon urged her horse upon Honorine and the little boy; but, like the great majority of those noble-hearted creatures, the horse hesitated, stopped and tried to make a détour in order to avoid running down a woman and a child. The amazon persisted in her attempts to ride him upon them, when suddenly an unexpected defender changed the whole aspect of affairs. Ami rushed down the hill, and without pause or hesitation jumped at the rider, barking in a tone which indicated that he was not in a good humor.
At sight of that magnificent beast, who was doing his utmost to jump upon her, Thélénie, forced to defend herself, tried to strike Ami with her crop. But he cleverly avoided the blows, springing from side to side, but biting the horse at the same time.
“Madame! madame! call off your dog!” shouted the amazon; “he is biting my horse! you will be responsible for what may happen!”
“The dog is not mine, madame; but I am thankful for his arrival at this moment, for it has prevented you from doing a cowardly thing.”
“Oh! you haven’t heard the last of this, madame! The cursed dog! And I shall find this little wretch again, too. We shall see! we shall see! I will find that dog’s master!”
But harassed by Ami, who tried to bite her legs, and obliged to attend to her horse, whom the constant attacks of the dog were driving to frenzy, Thélénie had no choice but to abandon the field of battle. She plunged her spurs into the beast’s sides, and gave him the rein; he instantly galloped away at the top of his speed, and horse and rider soon disappeared altogether.
Ami started to pursue them, but Honorine called him back so vehemently that he returned to her side at last, still excited by the battle he had fought.
The young woman looked about in every direction, but to no purpose; the dog’s master did not appear. She was about to return to the house, when she noticed that little Emile was still by her side.
“Why did you throw a stone at that horse just now?” she asked.
“It wasn’t a stone, it was a lump of dirt.”
“No matter; you hoped to hit that lady, I suppose?”
“Yes, I aimed it at her.”
“That was a very naughty thing for you to do. Just think of all that might have happened: the lady galloped her horse at you——”
“And at you too.”
“And if it had not been for this good dog that arrived just in time, you might be badly hurt.”
“And you too.”
“None of those things would have happened if you had not thrown that lump of dirt.”
“What made that dragoon strike me with her whip?”
“Why didn’t you stand aside to let her pass?”
“She could pass well enough; there was plenty of room. Does she need the whole road for her and her horse?”
“My child, do you mean always to be naughty? You have already forgotten what I told you the other day; make people love you instead of making them fear you, and you will be much happier.”
The boy looked at the ground and muttered in a low voice:
“No one wants to love me!”
Honorine took a small coin from her purse and gave it to Emile.
“See, I will give you this,” she said, “but only on condition that you won’t throw any more stones or dirt at anybody. If I learn that you have done it again, I will never give you anything more.”
“Not cherries?”
“Neither cherries nor anything else; now go.”
Ami listened to this conversation, seated on his haunches, with the gravity of an examining magistrate. Then he followed Honorine to the garden gate, where she turned and said to him:
“Are you coming in with me, good dog? No; you won’t. Your master isn’t with you, so you came all byyourself to pay me a visit; that was very nice of you. When you choose to come again, just scratch at this gate, and you will always be welcome.”
Ami, who seemed to understand her words perfectly, yelped once or twice, then bounded away toward the Tower, barking loudly and joyously.